Tracers 02 - Unspeakable

by Laura Griffin

  Troy propped a shoulder against the wall and focused his attention back on their conversation.

  “—but then we got an arrest this morning,” the agent was saying.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Downtown branch, just like we thought. Garcia and I made the collar. It was pretty intense.”

  She beamed at him. “Nice going! Your first big arrest! We should celebrate.”

  “That’s part of the reason I came, actually.” He glanced at Troy. “But it’s getting late. We can catch up tomorrow, so—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Is this you next door?”

  “Yeah. And I let myself into your room, put your stuff on the bed.”

  “My room was locked.”

  “That lock couldn’t keep out a ten-year-old,” the agent said, and Elaina flicked a glance at Troy.

  “Well… let’s have a toast,” she said. “I’ve got a bottle of wine in my room. I’ll bring it right over.” She turned to Troy. “You’re welcome to stay, of course.”

  Of course. And could the invitation have been delivered with less enthusiasm?

  “I’ll catch you later.” He nodded at the agent, who—despite most likely being gay—was still sending out some of that hands-offa-her vibe. “Nice meeting you. You two have fun.”

  Elaina lay motionless in bed, but her body still seemed to be moving. The room was dark. Her head was spinning. And each time she closed her eyes, she was back aboard Troy’s speedboat. She could almost taste the brine on her lips as the Supra skipped over the waves.

  He’d wanted to come in tonight. If Weaver hadn’t been here, would she have let him? A week ago, she would have said no. She didn’t sleep with men on a whim.

  But something about Troy made her want to bend the rules. Just once in her life, she wanted to be someone besides herself, someone other than responsible Elaina. Serious Elaina. Focused, diligent, ambitious Elaina, who’d forgone a social life to pursue a career with the world’s top law enforcement agency.

  Where had this weakness come from?

  Maybe Gina Calvert had met someone who brought out a similar weakness. Inviting an unknown man home would have been out of character for her—just like Elaina. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.

  Her cell phone chimed just beside her ear, and she snatched it up.

  “McCord.”

  “Y’all polish off that wine?”

  She sighed. “What is it? I was almost asleep.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Troy said. “You should get a second-floor room. If you plan to be here awhile, that is.”

  The phone beeped at her, telling her the battery was low. She kicked the covers off and switched on the lamp.

  “Do you?” Troy asked.

  “Do I what?” She found the charger on the coffee table and jammed it into the outlet beside the nightstand.

  “Plan to be here awhile?”

  “Yes.” She paused, charger in hand, as she realized what she’d just said. Where had that come from? She’d intended to leave Monday. That’s what she’d told Weaver, at least. But she realized now that she had no intention of leaving yet, not until she made progress on this case.

  “You need a second-floor room,” he said.

  “I specifically requested this suite.”

  “Yeah, and you’ve had your look around. Now get a different one.”

  The phone on the nightstand rang. Not a chime or a ringtone, but a shrill clanging noise, the likes of which she hadn’t heard in years.

  “I’ll think about it,” she told Troy. “Listen, someone’s calling my room. I’ve got to go.”

  “Be smart, Elaina,” he said, and hung up.

  She plugged her BlackBerry into the charger as the princess phone clanged again. She snatched it up.

  “McCord.”

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  “Have you found her yet?”

  The quiet voice sent a chill through her. “Who is this?” she demanded.

  “I’m disappointed,” he said. “You federal agents, I thought you’d raise the level of play.”

  Elaina’s chest tightened. This could be a prank. Or it could be real.

  Draw him out. Keep him talking. Establish a relationship.

  “What’s your name?” she asked. The voice sounded muffled, far-away, and she pictured some shadowy figure at a pay phone, talking through a bandanna.

  “She’s waiting for you, Elaina. This one’s special, too. One of my best hides.”

  His hides? He was hiding them? Or did he mean hides, like hunting hides?

  “Where is she?”

  Laughter. “Nice try.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Keep looking.” The voice was serious again. “Valerie’s waiting.”

  Elaina expected a crowd at Dot’s Diner the next morning, but the place was practically empty. She spotted Cinco right away at a red vinyl booth in the back.

  “Should I be worried?” she asked, sliding in.

  “About?”

  “Roaches? Mold? Slime in the ice machine?”

  He smiled, his perfect teeth a flash of white against his olive skin.

  “We missed the pre-church crowd,” he said.

  “You guys have a church?” Elaina hadn’t seen it, and she’d done a full driving tour of Lito Island yesterday after picking up her car at the shop.

  “North end of the island. It’s small.”

  Elaina pulled a menu out from behind the napkin dispenser. “What’s good here?”

  “Depends how hungover you are.”

  She glanced up.

  “I saw you at Coconuts,” he explained.

  Then he’d seen her leave with Troy. She wondered what he thought about that. Maybe nothing. She was pretty sure she’d already become fodder for at least a little island gossip, though. Especially after bumping into everyone out on the bay last night.

  Practically in a lip-lock with Troy.

  What are you doing, Lainey? It had taken Weaver all of two minutes to pick up on the sexual tension between her and Troy, and he was concerned, naturally. Don’t be naive here. The media is not your friend.

  “I feel fine,” she told Cinco, just as the waitress appeared. Elaina tucked the menu back in its place. “I’ll have an English muffin, please. And black coffee.”

  Cinco ordered something in Spanish and then picked up a file from the seat beside him.

  “Here’s what I’ve got.” He opened the folder and pulled out a thin stack of papers held together with a binder clip. “Forty-two names, all with violent or sexual offenses dating sometime in the last fifteen years. I put the interesting ones on top.”

  He slid the rap sheets across the table, and she started thumbing through them. When the waitress returned with coffee, Elaina dropped her arm over the mug shot to block her view. Small-town grapevine and all that.

  “Nine aggravated sexual assaults,” Elaina said after she left. “Six armed robberies. What’s this indecent exposure?”

  “Ah, I wouldn’t waste much time on him. He’s kind of a kook. Likes to streak the crowd at the Fourth of July picnic every year.”

  Elaina’s coffee was strong and hot, with a hint of cinnamon. She sipped it as she neared the bottom of the stack. She’d reached the second-to-last page when she froze—cup in midair—and stared down at Troy’s mug shot.

  “Aggravated assault?”

  Cinco winced. “That was this thing over at the Dockhouse. Long time ago.”

  She skimmed the info. “He stabbed someone?”

  “Yeah, but the guy was really out of line.”

  Elaina just stared at him, waiting for more.

  “See, Troy’s girlfriend at the time had just won fifty bucks off these guys at pool. One of them started talking trash to her. Him and Troy traded punches. The guy pulled a knife, but Troy took it right off him. Might have nicked him some.…” Cinco’s voice trailed off and he looked apologetic.

  “So now he has a crimi
nal record over a game of pool.” Elaina shook her head. Men.

  “He’s really a stand-up guy, though,” Cinco said. “Just has a temper.”

  Elaina flipped to the last page, some thirty-nine-year-old who’d been arrested four times this year for smoking pot on the beach. Naked, evidently.

  “Inoperable cancer,” Cinco explained. “Hell, I’d be lighting up, too.”

  Elaina looked up to see Troy towering over their table. Faded jeans again. Black T-shirt. His shaggy hair was slicked back, hinting at a shower, but he hadn’t bothered to shave.

  “You look worse than your mug shot,” she said drily.

  Troy slid into the booth and scooted her over.

  “Excuse me,” she said as he reached across her to grab a menu.

  “Your friend leave?” he asked her.

  “He got called in this morning.” But not before admonishing her to keep her distance from Troy. Weaver had good instincts about people, and he was protective of the ones he cared about. Sometimes annoyingly so.

  Elaina stashed the file beside her purse and pretended not to notice Troy’s warm bulk beside her. Aggravated assault. With a knife, too. It should bump him right to the top of her suspect list, but it didn’t. She glanced down at his denim-clad leg beside her. Maybe she was letting her attraction to him cloud her judgment.

  But despite his rap sheet, Elaina’s instincts told her he was safe. Instincts—plus the fact that she’d been on the phone with Troy when she’d received the call from the unsub—had made her scratch Troy off of her suspect list.

  The waitress appeared with an English muffin and Cinco’s whatever-it-was that smelled heavenly and came with a side of jalapeños.

  “Okay, you win,” Elaina told Cinco. “What is that, anyway?”

  “Migas.”

  “I’ll have the same,” Troy told the waitress. “And coffee. Black.”

  “Here’s that other thing you asked for.” Cinco slid a single slip of paper across the table.

  “Is this the list?” she asked, and Cinco grunted around a mouth full of eggs.

  “What list?” Troy asked.

  “Window peekers. The vast majority of serial killers start out as Peeping Toms,” Elaina said, reading over the addresses and dates. “It’s just something I wanted to check.”

  The incidents were between eight and fifteen years old, just as she’d requested. A report halfway down the list caught her attention. It had occurred a few weeks before Mary Beth Cooper’s murder. She glanced at the address.

  “Bay Port?” she asked.

  “Yep.” Cinco exchanged a look with Troy. “Same street where Mary Beth Cooper lived. Thought you might want it.”

  Uh, yeah. “Did the Bay Port police look into this?”

  “No idea,” Cinco said. “From what I hear, they barely got started on the case when the feds took over. She was connected with the Charles Diggins murders pretty quick there. Most of those victims were Latina, so it was being investigated by the feds as maybe a race thing.”

  Troy’s breakfast arrived and he dug right in. Elaina watched him, wondering how he felt about her putting forward a theory that called his credibility into question. He didn’t seem resentful, but he was a tricky man to read.

  Elaina tucked the paper into her file. She’d make some calls this afternoon, see if the same family still lived at this address and if they’d mind sitting down with her. It might not go anywhere, but who knew? Maybe whoever had reported this Peeping Tom had gotten a look at him.

  Elaina eyed Troy’s sausage links as she nibbled her English muffin. She glanced up, and he was smiling at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Hungry?”

  “No.” She sipped her coffee.

  “So let’s have it, Cinc.” He picked up a sausage and popped it in his mouth. “There any truth to that rumor about a task force?”

  Cinco gave Elaina a sheepish look, and she knew she wasn’t going to like this.

  “There’s a task force forming?” she asked.

  He cleared his throat. “That’s the word.”

  “Who’s on it?” And why am I the last to know?

  “I don’t know yet. Breck’s coordinating with the sheriff’s office, the Texas Rangers. Looks like everybody’s got a hand in.”

  Except for the FBI agent sent here to work the case. Elaina’s temper simmered. This was bullshit. Again.

  She rummaged through her purse and jerked a ten out of her wallet. “Excuse me,” she said, placing it under her coffee cup.

  She made her way to the front of the restaurant and stepped outside as she dialed her boss’s number. Only then did she think to look at her watch. Ten-thirty on a Sunday morning. Would he be at church right now? Waking up with some girlfriend? Scarborough had no spouse, no kids. He was a highly demanding boss because personal commitments meant nothing to him.

  “Scarborough.” The voice was clear and alert. He hadn’t been rolling out of bed.

  “Sir. It’s Elaina McCord. I hope you’re not at church.”

  I hope you’re not at church? What an idiotic thing to say.

  “What is it, McCord? I’m in the middle of something.”

  “Right.” She cleared her throat. “I’m on Lito Island assisting in the Whitney Bensen homicide. It seems they’re putting a task force together, and I wanted to make sure—”

  “Relax, you’re on it.”

  She released a breath. “I am?”

  “Yeah, this idea of yours about the Cooper connection, it’s getting some legs.”

  “It’s…” She wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want to discredit her own theory, but since when had anyone been taking her seriously?

  “They found another body,” Scarborough told her. “Not an hour ago. I just got off the phone with Breck.”

  Her stomach twisted. “Is it Valerie Monroe?”

  “The missing med student, they think. I don’t know her name.”

  “Valerie Monroe. What’s the connection—”

  “Geography. Killer dumped her in the exact same place as that Cooper girl.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Bay View Nature Preserve

  N 26° 19.307 W 097° 30.875

  11:55 A.M. CST

  Cinco flashed his badge, and the cop manning the blockade waved him through. He drove past the crime-scene van and wedged his pickup truck into a spot between two sheriff’s units.

  “You need some shoes?” Cinco asked, eyeing Elaina in his passenger seat. She had on that same outfit from Friday, including the heels. They weren’t all that high, but still. “I’ve probably got some duck boots in back. It’ll be muddy.”

  “Sure.”

  He twisted around and dug through the crap in the back of his cab: clothes, fishing gear, tools. He handed her some mud-caked boots from the floor. She slipped her shoes off, and he watched—impressed—as she wrestled her feet into his boots without seeming to care about the dirt getting all over her pantsuit. Maybe she only looked uptight.

  “So what’s the protocol here?” she asked.

  Or maybe not. “Protocol?”

  “Who’s in charge of this crime scene? I understand it’s a park now? Nine years ago it was just private land transected by a highway.”

  “Yeah, they got some endangered bird nesting here. Some kind of crane or something. While back, a lot of the bird people pushed to have it made into a nature preserve. I’m not sure who’s in charge, to tell you the truth.”

  She glanced out the window at all the law enforcement types standing around. The friendly Agent McCord from breakfast was long gone. She’d put on her game face.

  “You ever worked a homicide before?” he asked.

  She glanced over at him. “I participated in a drug raid a few months ago. A guy got shot. Died at the scene.”

  “This isn’t like that,” he said, needing to warn her. “I’m not saying you’re not up for it or anything, it’s just… it’s bad, okay? I don’t care how long you been on the j
ob, what he does to these girls is bad.”

  “I know.” She met his gaze, and he knew she was prepared. As prepared as you ever could be, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t spook her. He’d seen some bad shit over the years, but nothing that compared to this.

  He pushed open the door and got out. She followed suit.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He glanced at her over the hood, and she smiled slightly. “Thanks.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “The boots, and you know, the rest of it.”

  She ducked under the crime-scene tape and trudged across the field, right up to the group of men huddled together beside a wooden sign that read BAY VIEW NATURE PRESERVE.

  Cinco looked around and tried to get the lay of the land. They were on the mainland side of Laguna Madre, just a few hundred feet in from the bay. The ground looked soft, despite the recent dry spell. A fairly large perimeter had been set up and almost everyone was milling around outside it. Some cops were reluctant to sign into a crime scene and make themselves fair game for a defense attorney down the road. No one wanted to be the jackass who touched the wrong thing and got some scumbag off on a technicality.

  A guy Cinco recognized from the Lito County Sheriff’s Department walked up to him.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey.” Cinco remembered his name, finally. Ketchem. People called him Ketch.

  “Man, oh, man,” Ketchem said, shaking his head. “This one’s bad.”

  Cinco nodded.

  “You never seen anything like it. Swear to God, I nearly booted up my breakfast.”

  Cinco watched Elaina. She stood beside a crime-scene technician, peering into a ditch.

  “Vic’s over there?”

  “Yup. Guy dumped her in that gulley. Couple inches a water. Fish’ve been at her. Bugs, buzzards. Damn near everything’s had a bite of her. Don’t know how they’re gonna get an ID.”

  The image Cinco had been trying to get rid of was back now—Whitney Bensen in vivid detail.

  Elaina knelt down and pointed at something on the ground. She waved over a ranger who was standing nearby and exchanged words with him.

  “She the fed?” Ketchem asked.

  “Yeah.”

  He grunted something that could have meant anything from “She’s hot” to “She looks like a pain in the ass.”